Iowa
by Anne Bowman
Summary: An unsigned poem causes an uproar among the cabin-fever afflicted residents of the MP Tour Bus 2001...
1. i've never had a way with women

Author's note/Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anybody at all except myself. I just needed a break from the nonstop angst-fest that is my other story (Surrender), and this idea just sort of hatched without warning. :) The song quoted throughout the story is "Iowa," by Dar Williams. Oh, and also? I'm a little foggy about the actual geography of the bus itself, and in reality, the idea of 8 people in that small a space for that long a time is pretty scary, so please suspend some disbelief. :)  
  
===  
  
It felt like they had been on the bus for eight months instead of three weeks. Annie was still her perenially optimistic self, but even her unwavering good temperament was feeling the toll of the confinement and the constant movement. The sun charged obnoxiously through the blinds of the room that she and Fi now shared. Annie stretched and yawned, glancing around the room before doing anything else to make sure her spirit animal was still watching over her. Yep, he was in his usual position, sprawled out on the floor. "It's a good thing no one can see you," she told the panther with a smile. "Otherwise, everyone would always be tripping over you!"   
  
Then she noticed that Fi was nowhere in sight and the bus seemed to have actually stopped. She bounded down the hall and realized that everyone, actually, was gone. Why would they have left her behind? She pouted a little and flopped down on the couch, because obviously she couldn't leave the bus in her pajamas. Even if they were super cute. "Ouch," she muttered, removing a small piece of paper from underneath herself. It was folded into about a thousand tiny little squares. On it was written a poem. Annie looked around to make sure no one was watching her (well, except her spirit animal, of course, because he was always with her) and devoured the words with the guilty grin of someone who knows what they are doing is very, very wrong.

_I've never had a way with women,   
but the hills of Iowa make me wish that I could.  
and I've never found a way to say I love you,   
but if the chance came by, oh I, I would._

She read the first stanza and stopped, nearly scratching her head in pure puzzlement. They had passed through Iowa a few days (weeks?) ago, so that part was easy to figure out. "I've never had a way with women..." Well, that would go for pretty much everybody on the whole bus, wouldn't it? She giggled. But maybe the writer's intentions were easier to figure out than just through the words on the page. She was the only one left on the bus. Maybe the mystery poet had left it for her specifically to find! Then who would it be? Well, she didn't know Clu _that_ well, and she got the feeling that Fi didn't especially like her. It wouldn't be any of the grown-ups. Definitely Jack or Carey, then. But which one? She decided to consult with the wisest soul she knew. Her panther, of course!  
  
"Hey, kitty. Do you think this was written for me by Jack, or by Carey?" She knelt down beside the sleepy spirit animal and showed him the wrinkled paper. He seemed to peruse it, and then yawned once. "Come on... wait. One yawn. One syllable. Jack, of course!" She hugged the quiet panther in delight. "Wicked!" She scampered off to change her clothes and find Jack straightaway!


	2. we walk into our houses & burn

"Do you think Annie will be mad that we left her behind?" Jack asked as the group headed back toward the bus with their Styrofoamed breakfast to-go packages in hand.   
  
"Well, it's not like we didn't bring her something, too," Clu pointed out.   
  
"And she was up pretty late talking to herself," added Fi. "I worry about her sometimes."  
  
Just then, Annie ran to meet them and threw her arms around Jack, which mystified everyone else. "Um... hi?"  
  
"Jack! I have to talk to you!" she exclaimed, widening her eyes and smiling brightly. She grabbed him by the arm and led him away from the group. She produced a small, wadded-up piece of paper and thrust it into his free hand. "I found it!"  
  
He stared at the piece of paper and sighed. Another strange little non-mystery, no doubt. Like human bees, or magnetic high school students. "Okay, I give up. What is it, a _magic _piece of paper?"  
  
She looked at him with an expression of genuine befuddlement. "Well, don't you know what it is?" Then, quieter: "I _know _he wouldn't steer me wrong! It has to be Jack!"  
  
"I'm standing right here. What has to be Jack?"  
  
"The poem. That you wrote for me. I found it while you all were gone. Where'd you go, anyway?"  
  
"Breakfast. But I didn't write you any poem, Annie. I'm not a writer." He unfolded the piece of paper and read. 

_but way back where I come from, we never mean to bother,   
we don't like to make our passions other people's concern.  
we walk in the world of safe people,  
and at night we walk into our houses and burn._

"You didn't write that?" she interrupted.   
  
"No, I'm sorry, but I didn't." Her face fell. He regretted not being more sensitive and put an arm around her. "I do like you. I just don't, you know... not like this."  
  
"It's okay," she said, suddenly brightening. "But if you didn't write it, then who did?"  
  
"Well, I don't think it's any of our business, really. We should probably just put it back where you found it and let whoever did write it deal with it as they intended to originally."  
  
She frowned. "Don't you want to solve the mystery?"  
  
"NO." She laughed at his vehemence and scampered toward the bus to collect her breakfast, leaving him holding the paper. He re-read the second stanza. "We don't like to make our passions other people's concern... so whoever wrote it doesn't want anyone to _know _about their feelings for this other person." He stood there for a moment, considering the possibilities. He smiled. 

"It's _got _to be Clu. I knew it!" He ran to catch up with the others with an uncharacteristic lightness.


	3. a great & gruesome height

Clu was sitting quietly, paging through an old Philosophy textbook--well, that's what everyone thought he was doing, but in truth, he was reading the latest issue of _X-Men_. He giggled and Carey, Irene, and Molly stopped what they were doing to give him strange looks. He cleared his throat and pretended to be reading seriously again. He was right in the middle of the climactic battle scene when Jack grabbed him by the arm and dragged him down the hall.   
  
"What is it, man? I was just getting to the good part! Well, they're all good parts, but the super good part, you know, where--"  
  
"Shh. I found it," Jack whispered, passing the paper to Clu in a covert handshake.   
  
"What did you find? The cheat codes for--"  
  
"No! The poem. The one you wrote! Annie found it and thought I wrote it to her, which obviously wasn't true, but I figured it--"  
  
Clu looked down at the paper and read it over silently (Jack noticed that his lips were moving. Oh, how his lips were moving! They formed the words so inaudibly and beautifully, and... well, never mind what else he noticed.)

_how I long to fall just a little bit,  
to dance out of the lines and stray from the light.  
but I fear that to fall in love with you is to fall  
from a great and gruesome height._

"Dude, I didn't write this. You know I'm not a writer."  
  
Jack recoiled, fearing his secret had unwittingly been revealed through his false assumption. "I, I know you didn't, I didn't mean that you wrote it, I just meant that maybe you knew who did write it--"  
  
Clu rested a hand on his shoulder. "I know what you meant, man. It's cool."  
  
"No, seriously, I didn't mean that I, like, thought you _liked_--"  
  
"Shut up, Jack. But we should figure out who did write this, you know?"  
  
"No, no, no, I do not want to get involved in yet another wacky mystery, so count me out." He sort of pouted and walked away, slamming the door to his compartment.  
  
Hm. So if Jack didn't write it to Annie, and I didn't write it to Jack, who's left? Clu stood there for a moment, lost in thought. Then it hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks. Fi!


	4. a simple plan

He ran down the hallway to Annie's door and stopped for a minute to let his breathing return to normal. He smoothed down his hair, knocked, and opened the door without waiting for a response.  
  
"Hey, Fi," Clu said, attempting to be casual and not let his excitement bleed through his cool, collected exterior. "What are you doing?"  
  
She looked up from her computer with an expression of mild annoyance. "Typing. What are _you _doing?"  
  
"I found it," he said, smiling like the Cheshire cat. "And we know you wrote it, because Jack didn't write it to Annie and I didn't write it to Jack. So who'd you write it to?"  
  
She arched an eyebrow and closed her laptop with a sigh. "Define 'it,' please, because I'm completely lost."  
  
He tossed the folded-up paper at her and sat down on the bed. She unfolded it and read it over quickly. "Wow, this is really great, Clu."  
  
"You wrote it for me, didn't you?" he asked gleefully.  
  
"Well, no, I didn't write it."  
  
He looked slightly disappointed, but only momentarily. "So who do you think it was?"  
  
"I don't know," Fi said with a glimmer of mischief, a plot clearly brewing in her mind, "but if it wasn't written by you, me, Jack, or Annie, we should _definitely _find out who the real author is."  
  
Fi's plot was pretty simple, really. It consisted of leaving the letter out in the open and observing surreptitiously to discover the true author, who would surely snatch it up and deliver it to its rightful recipient... or not. Clu and Fi snuck down the hall and she casually tossed the paper on the couch while he made a distraction by falling down noisily. Then they retreated and observed from the shadowy hallway. Jack and Annie eventually emerged as well, but nothing was happening of any interest. After about 15 minutes, they all thought of other things they could be doing with this time and scattered.  
  
It wasn't until later that evening that someone did pick up the poem. The bus had stopped. Ned, Irene, Carey, Jack, Fi, Clu, and Annie had all debussed at a gas station to reload on soft drinks, unhealthy snack foods, and local newspapers. Molly had fallen asleep on the couch a couple of hours ago, and she woke up to the unfamiliar sensation of a still bus. She sat up groggily and felt something stabbing her from below. She pulled the paper from beneath her and unfolded it. Unlike the others, she didn't bother to speculate as to the original author or its intended recipient. She retreated to her usual sleeping quarters and retrieved her guitar, then returned to the couch and began working out a melody. 


	5. the screen doors of discretion

_once I had everything, I gave it up,  
for the shoulder of your driveway and the words I've never felt.  
and so for you, I came this far across the tracks,   
ten miles above the limit, and with no seatbelt, and I'd do it again_.

She strummed out a simple melody, but scrapped it and started over, singing that stanza again, reaching a crescendo and ending in a whisper: "and I'd do it again..." 

"That sounds really perfect," Carey said, leaning against the open door. He climbed the stairs in one step and sat beside her, reaching for the paper. "Apparently, this has been causing quite a stir today." He re-folded the paper and stuffed it back into his pocket, from which it had originally fallen.  
  
"It's really beautiful. Did you write it?"  
  
"Yeah."_  
_  
"Do you mind if I put it to music?"  
  
"Well, I wrote it for you."  
  
She smiled and began to try a different arrangement when the meaning of what he had said hit her. He didn't mean he had written it for her act. He meant he'd written it _for her_.  
  
"For me?"  
  
He cleared his throat and looked away. She reached for his hand and started to speak, to tell him that it was really sweet, but that nothing could possibly happen, not now, but he interrupted her before she got the words out and sang his words to her melody. 

_tonight I went running through the screen doors of discretion,   
for I woke up from a nightmare that I could not stand to see;   
you were a-wandering out on the hills of Iowa,   
and you were not thinking of me... _

And what could she say to that? Since he had returned from college and the old goofy Carey she'd known from childhood had somehow morphed into the new grown-up Carey, the one who wasn't afraid anymore to pursue what he really wanted from life, somehow their relationship _had _changed. She had never taken the time to add it up before, but it was clear now that he was standing at the precipice of the great, gruesome height and turning back, holding out his hand to her. What could she do but hold her breath and let herself fall?  
  
She kissed him sweetly, and felt his great warmth melt against her. It would be scary to face what would happen next, but at least she knew they would stare down the great unknown together.


	6. finale

When Fi, Annie, Jack, and Clu re-boarded the bus, they were quite surprised to find that both Molly and the poem beneath her had mysteriously disappeared. Collectively, they supposed the mystery had either been solved or would remain a mystery forever, and retreated to their respective quarters.   
  
"So," Fi said. "Did you really think Jack was in love with you like that?"  
  
"It's all _his _fault," Annie muttered, and refused to say another word about it.  
  
Meanwhile, Jack was lying on his side pretending to be asleep when Clu tapped him on the shoulder. "About today, man," he said. "I just wanted to let you know that it didn't freak me out or anything when you said... you know, that you thought it was me."  
  
Jack smiled and sat up. "Really?"  
  
"Oh, yeah, dude. I totally support you in whatever lifestyle you've become accustomed to and all."  
  
This was not quite what he had expected. "Oh?" he said warily.  
  
"Yeah. I'm sure you'll find the right guy one day," Clu said with a warm, oblivious smile. Jack sighed and returned to the fetal position.  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure I will," he sighed, and pretended to be asleep.  
  
Fi and Clu nearly ran into each other sneaking into the hallway at the same time.   
  
"So," said Fi. "I guess that mystery is going to stay unsolved for now."  
  
"Yeah," Clu laughed. "Maybe you can put something on your website about it."  
  
"Look, I just wanted to tell you that I'm really sorry that it wasn't me who wrote the poem. To you, I mean," Fi said.  
  
"Oh, I didn't really think--"  
  
"I know what you thought," she smiled. "And it's okay."  
  
"Really?" he said with an expectant smile.  
  
"I'm sure you'll find the right girl someday," she said assuringly.   
  
"Oh. Yeah. I'm sure I will." She patted him on the shoulder with a sweet smile and returned to her room.  
  
As she lay in bed that night, it occurred to her that she had forgotten one very real possibility. What if he had written the poem for her? The very thought made her smile with an inappropriate amount of joy... she made a note to confront him about it in the morning. Where did he go, anyway?


End file.
